19-Jun-2017: How to write

My head hurts. It is surprising. It has been a day of mostly pleasant work, in fact wholly pleasant work, although I was in an orange top. The orange top that I dug out of all the mess, sure it would make me look good. But alas! A fail. I felt like crap through the day. Note to myself: do not go to work feeling like crap on Mondays. For on Mondays, there are meetings. And at meetings, one is required to Speak. And wherever one needs to speak, one needs to feel especially good about themselves.

That is my reality, anyway. I, you see, have forgotten how to speak, and it’s been a long time. In fact, I think I’m going to live out the rest of my life learning how to speak. But wait!

Note to self: I don’t slog it out working on weaknesses anymore – an (almost failed) MBA made sure of that. You see, I took up the task of completing a glorious MBA in a war against my weaknesses. Wrong move. You play by your strengths.


Confession: I’m a writer who has little to say to the world. Or so I think. Here, I’m going to attempt to dig into the deepest truths I know and live by, in an attempt to add some value to the world.

Observation: Your deepest truths come to the fore as you go about your day. You might have to dig a little deeper than you do to capture them as they pass by.

Another thought: You could try and convert memorable situations from each day – this will help you articulate situations in ever-better words, tighter and tighter as we go along.


Do you pander to power? Do you kiss ass – but just a little so I can’t see? Is that your pathetic game? Or are your instincts leading you where you don’t want to go? For you see, “the little things give you away.”


Monday Morning Meetings: I’m screaming inside because I’ve nothing to say. A million motivational notes come to nothing, when you’re faced with a room of people. You battle against paper, and you may, just may, win.


My thoughts come in sputters. And then they stagnate from the fear of stagnating.


Authenticity is my gold – the spontaneous ebb and flow of life that flows from me.


When the sexual games are done, and the play of substances is over – you find you can actually speak. Strive, then, to speak.


 

 

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No click baits, no nothing. Only…Signs.

This thought springs from a fairly personal space. I’d like to read, and hence create, a magazine that showcased the signs of progress, as well as the signs regressive in our world. The objective is to answer the question, to which I assume the answer is constantly changing: Are we headed to a better place, or worse? The thought came to mind upon reading about America’s positive withdrawal from the Paris Agreement – a regressive move, for sure.

As of today

As of today, I feel I must keep a certain distance (read stay the hell away) from people you seek to impress, for they only stifle your spirit. Not through any fault of theirs, but your own faults.


Or, I could live a life of reading, marking out my favourite paragraphs in books, glean some of that learning and apply it to a not lacklustre but not particularly illustrious work life.

Live a life of honesty beyond the tactfulness that the commercial world demands of you. Shine your light there. And change the world one person at a time, as they say.

Now

What’s the truest part of me now? The most authentic?

Loneliness screams. I wait with bated breath for a wonderfully titled book that’ll arrive tomorrow. I think about how so much of the writing I see these days is peppered with references to technology, as it rightly must be. A million scattered thoughts – adding up to little. Where’s the focus? Should there be focus? Or is it my choice? I think it is the latter.

I hear a dear friend – one of the most sensitive and articulate people I know – say that her world is small, filled with a few friends and many books – and then I think I am okay. It’s not very commendable – this need for external validation.

Do I really live to experience my own mind? To see it take flight?

New friends and old drift in and out of my life – their egos barely visible, but floating just below the boiling surface.

I can not write coherently about anything for too long. It is a handicap I must deal with, or counter with a form all my own.

Cleave to the things, the people, the places, that make you come alive. Experience the new, but only newness that matters to you – people, ideas, never places for me.

I’m no cat; a dog any day. Light any day.

 

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